


Princes Don't Get Sick (Except for When They Do)

by AuthorAlex97 (Sweetie_Curfy)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 01:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14739413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetie_Curfy/pseuds/AuthorAlex97
Summary: Roman feels fine. He is not sick.(A fic based on “A Sick Roman is a Sulky Roman” by @sidespart on Tumblr. Go check them out, if you haven't already!)





	Princes Don't Get Sick (Except for When They Do)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Mild sickness, little bit of self hatred
> 
> Enjoy!

Roman was feeling fine.

Really, he was! If anyone wanted proof, he’d just returned to the mindscape from a long quest to slay a beastly Gorgon Catoblepas—could a sick prince do _that?_ Surely not! And that’s not even beginning to consider the thunderstorm, the way that his kingdom was in the midst of a cold spell, how the exhaustion of dealing with it all caused the room to spin…

No. A sick prince wouldn’t have won that battle. Roman was not sick.

He pushed through the door into the common area, leaning wearily upon the wall as beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. Odd, that it was this much warmer here than it had been in his room—perhaps Thomas was ill and running a fever. Roman made a mental note to check the thermostat as he pulled open his jacket and headed down the stairs.

There was noise coming from the kitchen. Roman could hear the clinking of metal against glass and the bubbling of water. If his nose wasn’t so stuffed, he figured the smell of coffee would be adrift in the air.

He paused at the thermostat.

98.6.

Roman frowned.

“I see you’ve finished up your fantasy.”

He flinched, whirling around at the voice; his ears rattled with a rush of blood, and the floor suddenly was wobbling up and down. Roman subtly placed his hand on the wall to steady himself as he blinked away the black dots dancing in his vision.

Next to the coffee maker, Logan leaned against the counter, Crofter’s in hand and spoon in mouth.

Roman cleared his throat. “Yes, and it was quite successful. The beast is no more!”

Logan raised an eyebrow and pulled the spoon out. “You sound as if you are suffering from pharyngitis. Are you alright?”

“I’m a prince, not a pharaoh. And I am _far_ from suffering, Mr… _Nerd_.”

“No, _pharyn_ gitis,” he corrected. “A sore throat, commonly caused by a viral infection such as the flu.”

He narrowed his eyes and set his Crofter’s to the side, carefully balancing the spoon on top before walking towards Roman. Roman held back a gasp and pushed away from the wall.

“Well, I can assure you that I feel wonderful right now!” he exclaimed. “I’ve never felt better in my life!”

Logan stood in front of him with crossed arms. “Are you certain on that? I’m picking up some evidence that goes against that claim. You’re flushed, appear to be in a mental fog—”

“Logan, I’m a _prince_. Princes don’t get sick.” Rolling his eyes, Roman pushed past him and stumbled to the sink. “I simply need to quench my thirst. Are you not the one to push the extremist water agenda not too long ago?”

“Well… Yes, and while it _is_ important, if your state is due to dehydration, then it’s going to take more than a simple glass of water to return to normal,” Logan pointed out. “Besides, pharyngitis isn’t caused by dehydration alone.”

Pulling a glass out of the cupboard, Roman filled it up and chugged half of the water within a few swallows. He turned to Logan and held the cup in the air. “See? I’m feeling better already.”

“Preposterous.”

“What’s preposterous is the idea that you don’t believe me when I’m stating that I feel fine.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “If you’re so positive, allow me to check your temperature.”

Roman froze. “What?”

“Allow me to check your temperature,” Logan repeated. He walked over to the sink and lifted his arm, wrist ready to be placed. “My hypothesis is that you are ill and running a fever. If you are truly well, checking your temperature will disprove this theory, and I will leave you alone. Otherwise, you will need to be looked after until you are healthy again.”

Face heating, Roman set the glass in the sink and shot a glare. “Princes _don’t get sick_ , Logan.”

“Everyone gets sick from time to time. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

He moved his wrist towards his forehead. Roman leaned away and took a step back.

The room began to spin again. Roman gripped the edge of the counter as subtly as he could, but his knees gave out underneath him, and he slid down the cabinets as ungracefully as he could have ever imagined instead. His eyes squeezed shut as he hit the floor; the shock of the impact ran up his tailbone, and it began to dawn on him just how much pain he truly was in. His head throbbed and his muscles ached—but surely, _surely_ that was just the result of fighting the beast this afternoon. He was _not_ sick.

Knees hit the floor next to him, and before he could open his eyes to stop it, a wrist rested on his forehead. Logan let out a single _tsk_ as he pulled it away.

“You’re alarmingly warm, Roman,” he said. “You need to get some rest.”

Roman shook his head and sucked in a breath to reply, but his lungs convulsed, and he let out a painful cough instead. He felt himself being scooped into a pair of arms and lifted into the air.

When he finally cracked his eyes open, his face heated. He huffed and crossed his arms, looking away.

Logan stood. Roman forced his eyebrows to stay down. He’d never realized Logan was capable of lifting more than the S volume of an encyclopedia.

“Are you ready to admit you’re sick yet?” Logan asked, smirk evident in his voice.

Holding back a pout, Roman tucked further into himself. “Princes don’t get sick…”

“Clearly.”

Logan carried Roman back to his room in silence. Roman let his head fall against Logan’s shoulder. Chills ran through his body, and he shut his eyes, pulling his jacket closed in an attempt to warm them away.

By the time they made it into his room, it had rearranged itself back into a bedroom. Logan carefully stood Roman on the carpeted floor next to his bed and put his hands behind his back.

“Change into your pajamas and get into bed,” he ordered. “I will go gather the necessary supplies to provide you with the care you need.”

As he left the room, Roman scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Sound like the TV announcers at a doctor’s office…”

Regardless, he did what he could to focus on doing as told. It took him a few tries to change into his pajamas, but, after briefly donning a suit of armor and the suit he wore when performing as Thomas’s boss a few months ago, he was crawling under the covers in his favorite red flannels. He tucked the blankets up to his chin and waited for the warmth to bring an end to his shivering.

It didn’t.

Logan pushed the door open, holding a small bowl in one hand and a bottle of pills and cup of water in the other. He crossed the room and set the items on Roman’s bedside table.

“I need you to sit up to take these,” he stated, opening the pills. “Ibuprofen will help lower your fever, and should relieve any pain you acquired in your fantasy.”

Groaning, Roman tucked himself further into the blankets. “It’s cold…”

“That is merely a side effect from your fever. You’ll feel better once you take these.”

He held out a pair of pills and the cup of water; reluctantly, Roman sat up, trying as hard as he could to keep the blankets wrapped around him. His throat itched as he took the offered remedies. Carefully, he swallowed the pills and held back any coughing until they were safely down. As soon as Logan took the cup back, Roman curled back up and buried his face in his pillow.

There was the sound of water sloshing, and then a hand touched his shoulder. “I need your forehead, Roman.”

“Why?”

“Placing a cool rag on your forehead will provide you some relief until the medicine starts to take effect.”

“No,” he moaned. “It’s too cold!”

Logan sighed. “I assure you that it will help.”

“Logan…”

“Please, Roman?”

Roman peeled his face up just enough to peer one eye at Logan; he held a damp washcloth in his hand as he aimed raised eyebrows at him. He pressed his lips together. Roman pouted and rolled onto his back.

He would never admit it out loud, but the moment the washcloth touched his forehead, it was like Elsa had just figured out how to control her icy powers. His eyes fluttered shut at the cool relief; he tried to let out a sigh, but it got caught on the pain in his throat, and he coughed instead. He groaned as soon as he regained control of his breathing.

“Get some rest,” Logan softly said. “You’ll recover soon.”

Roman wanted to fight back, to stay awake, to insist once again that he wasn’t sick because _princes don’t get sick_ , but it was quickly becoming clear that it was a losing battle. The world wavered in and out of his consciousness the longer he lay there; try as he might, he couldn’t find the energy to open his eyes and talk back.

The world slipped away.

* * *

_It’s humorous, to think that you believed you won._

_I did win. You were gone._

_You forget the Dragon Witch is on my side._

_I didn’t think she’d care for a beast as weak as you!_

_Oh? And look who’s talking. Remind me, which of us is confined to bed rest at this moment?_

_That means nothing._

_Does it now?_

_I defeated you once, and I can defeat you again!_

_Don’t be a fool. A sick child playing dress up could never truly win against me._

_Princes don’t get sick._

_Then what does that make you?_

* * *

When Roman awoke, he struggled to keep his eyes open.

The room still spun, despite the fact that he was laying somewhere soft and warm; his forehead was damp and cool. He coughed. There was something he needed to know, information he had to get… Who had been with him before…?

“Logan?”

He heard water dripping, and then something wet touched his forehead. “Yes?”

It took him a moment to remember what he was going to ask, and then another moment to find the courage.

“Princes don’t get sick.”

Logan sighed. “Roman, you can’t keep denying—”

“Duzzat mean I’m not a prince anymore?”

There was a beat of silence. Roman’s eyes fought to shut, and he struggled to keep them open.

His mattress dipped, and then a blurry image of brown hair came into view. A hand pushed his hair back. His eyes closed for just a moment before he forced them open again.

“Of course not,” Logan said. “You will always be a prince in your fantasy worlds. A viral infection cannot change that. Princes _do_ get sick from time to time, regardless of the falsehoods you have been telling yourself. The flu will not stop you from being a prince.”

Roman coughed. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

His eyes fluttered shut. For a brief second, he saw the face of a metallic monster. They snapped right back open, and then he narrowed them at the ceiling.

“The Gorgon Catoblepas is back,” he mumbled. “I have to go. I gotta fight it.”

Logan’s hand rested on his chest before he’d even had the chance to move. “You have to rest,” he stated. “I’m sure it was just a fever dream. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“My kingdom—”

“—Can wait until you’re healthy.”

“But—”

“ _No_ , Roman. You are not going on any quests or fantasy adventures until this fever breaks,” Logan pressed. “You are far too ill. You’ll only make yourself worse. You’re staying here.”

Coughing, Roman shook his head. The back of Logan’s hand touched his cheek. A soft sigh followed.

“There is nothing wrong with getting sick every once in a while, Roman,” he said. “It does not make you any less. Falling ill is inevitable.”

“But I don’t _want_ to be sick.”

“I highly doubt anyone ever does. That doesn’t stop it from occurring. You’re worsening your fever right now because you refuse to allow yourself to recover. You simply _must_ rest, Roman.”

Roman pouted; his eyes fell shut, but this time, they were only met with darkness. Once again, he struggled to find the energy to open them.

Logan’s hand moved to his bicep and gave it a soothing rub. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered.

As Roman was wavering in and out of consciousness, the mattress lifted, and the hand moved away. He let out a silent whimper and blindly reached out.

“Please don’t go,” he mumbled.

There was a pause. After a beat, another hand gently took his, and together, they lowered to rest on top of the blankets.

“I’ll be right here.”

Roman allowed himself to relax. He settled under the cool rag and took a deep breath, finding relief when a soft wheeze emerged instead of a cough. A weak smile formed on his face as he began to drift back to sleep.

Maybe, just maybe, it was okay for a prince to get sick every once in a while.

**Author's Note:**

> (youtuberswithalex.tumblr.com)


End file.
